On a Cold, Wet Night
by Quoin
Summary: My little twist on the fairy tale romance...


The brass doorknocker sounded against the front door.

"That'll be Lily—and that makes a full house."

James hesitated. "Get that, will you, Gideon?" he called from the kitchen, pretending to be busy brewing tea. "What about Dumbledore?" he frowned.

"Said he'd be late," Peter answered. "Interviewing for a new Arithmancy teacher or something."

"Divination," Sirius corrected, grinning mischievously at James.

"What?" he scowled. "So I don't want to talk to her right now." He tried to brush it off, but didn't fool anybody. "What am I supposed to do? It's not like I can stay away from these meetings—this is my house after all."

"Have you tried telling Dumbledore? _Not tonight, Professor, I'm nursing my bruised ego after my girlfriend dumped me? Could we have the Order meeting at yours this time?_ I'd pay good money to see you try."

"You _know_ I couldn't—my parents left this place to the Order in their will, didn't they? And _anyway_, she didn't _dump_ me—"

"You dumped her?"

"I didn't say that!"

"Well if neither of you dumped the other, I don't see what the problem is."

It only deepened James's scowl.

"I don't get it. I thought you two were going steady," Peter frowned.

"I think that's the problem, Peter—somebody asked for a little commitment the other night—"

"She bloody well didn't!"

"Now, see, James—it's reactions like that—"

"Shut up, will you?" But he was saved by a second knock at the door and Dumbledore's grim-faced arrival. The Headmaster shook the rain from his cloak as he hurried inside.

"Sybill Trelawney—the prospective teacher I have just been interviewing—has made a prophecy." The grave tone of his voice stilled the chatter in the front room, and gathered the others from adjoining rooms of the cottage. "Her first—and probably her last—alas, she hasn't the talent of her great-great-grandmother; but her words, I think, will come as a source of hope…"

"Merlin knows we could use some of that," Edgar Bones raised his mug of tea.

"She said, _the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…_" Heads began to turn towards Alice as he spoke; the round-faced witch moved closer to her husband at the words, reaching for his hand. "_And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…_"

An uncomfortable silence settled in its wake.

"There is more, I'm afraid—not of the prophecy, but of the circumstances of my hearing it. Had I known, of course I would not have met Sybill Trelawney in the Hog's Head—"

"Great Scott! You were overheard?"

"Yes, Alastor, I'm afraid we were—only the briefest snatch of the prophecy I'm relieved to say—but enough to cause terrible trouble. I think we must assume Voldemort—" even here, at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, the Dark Lord's name caused many to stiffen, "—already knows."

"Oh, Frank—" Alice gasped, burying her head in her husband's shoulder.

"I have accepted Sybill as Divination teacher, despite her rather limited talents, to afford her some protection within the grounds of Hogwarts Castle. It seems clear to me that you—and your son, when he is born—will be in grave danger."

The rest of the meeting passed James by in something of a daze after that. Alice and Frank had only recently announced they were expecting their first child—she wouldn't begin to show for weeks yet, Emmeline Vance had said knowledgably—but it seemed as though the innocence of the moment had been lost forever with that prophecy. He couldn't help feeling subdued by the words—that You Know Who would be bending his will towards ending that life before it even had the chance to begin, if it might secure his reign of terror a little longer… He had woken in a sweat from nightmares often enough, haunted by images of an all too possible defeat for the Order of the Phoenix, and the horror that would follow.

It wasn't until Dumbledore offered him a Liquorish Shoelace in an effort to bring a smile to his face that James realised Lily had left the room—and he remembered his reasons for trying to avoid her.

"Where's Lily?" he grabbed Sirius, arguing with Peter and the Prewitt brothers over the latest Broom ("It's not a patch on the _Apple II_, I'm telling you—") "Did you see where she went?" When they only shrugged and shook their heads, he tried the kitchen—but there was no sign of her among the knot of tea-drinkers clustered around the table.

"I don't get it—a minute ago you were doing your best avoid her."

"Must be love," Sirius smirked.

"Go and knock yourself out with a Bludger, why don't you?" James scowled, trying upstairs.

"Lily?" he asked cautiously, peering round the half-open door at the end of the hallway—he didn't like going in his parent's old room, if he was honest; too many memories—but as he turned to close the door behind him he caught movement out of the corner of his eyes—a breeze stirring the net curtain at the balcony door. She was outside, sat in what had been his mother's favourite chair—though between the rain and darkness there wasn't much of Godric Hollow to be seen.

She turned at the sound of the curtains being drawn back, but he couldn't meet her green eyes; he knew what she was thinking.

"Thrice defied him—James, that's _us_."

"It's Frank and Alice—it's got to be."

"What if it isn't?"

"Lily, nobody even knows you're pregnant—" he insisted—but was cut off by the look on her face that as good as said, _the whole _point_ of a prophecy is it's said before anyone really knows_… He turned away. "I thought we'd decided not to—"

"How could we? _Now_—after what Dumbledore just said! How can you even _think_—"

"Okay, okay—I don't want to argue about this again."

"You'd rather pretend like it's not happening—spend all week avoiding me—have Peter and Sirius lie to cover for you?"

"I did not—!" he caught himself, pulling out his wand and muttering a charm against being overheard—she had a point; he'd not exactly _wanted_ to talk to her tonight—but he still didn't want to argue about it. It felt like all they'd done was argue recently. "Look—okay, maybe…maybe I have been—well—avoiding you—a little…but this is crazy! It's got to be the Longbottoms—you're really going to go through with this on the off-chance—"

"Off-chance? James!"

"Wh—what I mean is—I mean, have you _thought_ about what you're saying?"

"And have you thought about it _at all_? Maybe if you were _thinking_ before—"

"Hey—there were two of us involved in that, you know—I'm not taking all the blame for it!"

"Yeah, well—_were_ you thinking?"

"You _know_ the answer—and neither were you, so don't get all moralistic on me for it—I was drunk. Can we get beyond that bit and talk about _now_? About you deciding for the both of us here?"

She glared at him for a moment, but then softened. "What do you want me to do?" she asked. His mouth opened and closed several times before any words came out.

"I—I don't know I can do this—a _baby_, Lily?"

She did, at least, bite back the automatic _shouldn't you have thought about that _before_ you slept with me?_ "Sirius is right—you _are_ afraid of commitment."

It was a sign of his state of mind that he didn't blow her off, admitting instead, "Well…_maybe_…but that's not the point! A _baby_, Lily—that's a lot of responsibility—I'm only twenty-one!"

"Would you rather find out in July—when it's too late—that it _was_ the child in the prophecy? Do you really want to take that risk?"

"No! Of course I don't…but…" He turned away, scrubbing at his dark hair—this was crazy. It was stupid—how could one drunken mistake have so many—_awful_—consequences? He didn't know what to do—he couldn't think about anything—and here she was pressing him to decide about something so important…

He found himself gripping the balcony railing—anything to keep himself from running away. He wasn't a coward, but this…? Sure—he liked Lily…for the most part…but—a _baby_? And settling down, being chained to a cot for the next however many years? A _baby_? It was too much.

How could they even be _thinking_ about bringing a child into the world when some days he felt there wasn't a smile to be had anywhere? The McKinnons—an entire _family_—had been killed just last week, and he and Sirius and the Longbottoms barely escaped with their lives; Lily and the Prewitts had nearly been caught a few days before that; and everywhere else, the Dark Mark in the sky and murders, disappearances. Even Muggles weren't safe.

How could they do this—with no guarantee the child's parents would even come home from work—and how could they _not_ when there was even the _smallest_ chance that child might be the end of Voldemort…

He felt sick. The only clear thought in his head was a desperate wish for it to have been someone else—anyone else—just not him, now, when he hardly knew what he was thinking of doing next weekend… He couldn't do this—he couldn't commit to a _baby_—and that wretched thought came swimming up again; his mother's voice—though she'd never spoken the words, he could hear them so clearly from her—_you should have thought about that before it went too far, James; you've no one to blame but yourself._ But he wasn't looking to _blame_ anyone—he just wished he hadn't been so _stupid_.

None of it seemed real—that there might _be_ a hope against the Dark Lord—the prophecy—that Lily even _thought_ it could be them—that she was _pregnant_, by him… _How did I get into this stupid mess?_ He found himself thinking of every idiot thing he and Sirius had got up to at Hogwarts—how every one had felt, at some stomach-turning moment, as if the world might just end…and how hopelessly naïve and immature and stupid all of that felt now, faced with this.

He wished he was thirteen again; it didn't seem possible people could be worrying about anything so mundane as a detention for hiding Filibuster fireworks in the pumpkins at the Halloween feast. He wanted it to be a full moon so the four of them could run away into the forest the other side of the Hollow and not have to think about any of this.

He wished his parents were still around—they'd know what to do, even if he would have been ashamed to tell them…but he _knew_ what to do—he hadn't any choice—he was just afraid…as if putting it into words might somehow make it more real—more frightening.

"Well…okay…" he took a deep breath, forcing himself to continue. "I suppose the first thing to do is tell Dumbledore."

"What? That I got drunk and slept with you?" Lily scoffed, hiding her own shame behind infuriation at his smile.

"No idiot—that we're getting married."

She stared at him stupidly for what seemed like an eternity.

Finally, she said, "I'll have to tell my parents."

"Which part?" he winced, each one as bad as the next.

"_All_ of it," she scolded, but seemed to catch his unspoken, "Should I come with—say I don't have to, please?" adding, "I think it'd be best if I went alone—this is going to be enough of a shock as it is." He let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, smiling weakly.

"I really didn't mean for any of this to happen…"

"Well—neither did I. But it has—and since the prophecy means I'm going to have to…well, we're just going to have to take a little responsibility for our actions, aren't we?"

He dared to ask, "You…you don't blame me, then…?"

"Of course I do!" but softened slightly, "James—we're both responsible for this life we've created—whether we meant for it to happen or not. Do you think I haven't wished it could have been different? Less drunk, less stupid—I didn't exactly _plan_ on getting myself chained to a crib at such a young age, you know—I had ideas about my life that didn't revolve around domestic servitude….but…well, neither of us really has a choice now, do we?" She couldn't help but smile at his stupidly young face—and James had a feeling she shared his thoughts on this one: _how did I ever get into this stupid mess?_ "Look—if you don't want to go through with this…well, I'd understand. I wouldn't _like_ it, but I can understand. If you don't want to you just leave, right now, and that'll be the end of it—I'll think up something, I'll manage—I mean, you were right _then_…but things are different now, and this is my choice." She looked away, at the rain caught in the firelight spilling from the cottage windows. "But if you're staying, you're in this for the long haul, you understand me? No backing out when the child's born and you're up half the night rocking it to sleep, no running away after two weeks because you can't take any more screaming. Do you understand me? Because if this baby _is_ the one—even if it _isn't_—this will be the most important decision you ever make in your life."

"You sound like my mother." The ghost of a smile played across his face.

"James—for once in your life can you be _serious_ about something?"

"I _am_!" and at the look on his face, Lily muttered an apology, but it was a moment before she would chance, "So…are you staying?"

"Of course I'm staying! I said I'd marry you, didn't I? Just because I'm scared doesn't mean I'm going to run away and leave you in the lurch—I…I thought you knew me better than that." This time it was him that turned to stare out at the Hollow, seeing nothing past his hands on the balcony railing and the rain spilling down off the roof, splashing on the peeling varnish of the windowsills. She was right—somehow she was _always_ right—when had he ever done the responsible thing in his life? Except that time with Snape and the Whomping Willow—but Sirius had forced him, and he wasn't exactly proud of that one; _good analogy, huh?_ How was it Remus managed to do enough worrying for the four of them, and none of it had ever rubbed off on him? He could hear it now—_when will you _grow up_, James?_ It didn't look like it was going to be any time soon. She was right to be angry.

But instead of shouting—as he thought he more than deserved—she kissed him, and whispered, "I love you, James Potter."

As she turned to go ("Can I use your fireplace? I'll be back in the morning; we'll tell Dumbledore then,") a sudden smile came to his face. "If it's true—if it _is_ us…" James was smiling like he shouldn't for what he'd just said. "We're going to have a boy—Harry, after my father."

"Archibald—after mine," she countered; then her face darkened, "But James—the last part…_neither can live while the other survives…_I'm scared."

He hadn't words; they hardly seemed enough for everything he was thinking about what might—and might not—come to be, holding her tight. Then he frowned and drew her back.

"Would you _really_ call a child _Archibald_?"

Lily laughed in spite of herself. "No! It's an awful name—I…I'd much rather it was an Eleanor," she admitted.

He smiled; _I love you, Lily Potter_, but didn't—couldn't—say it aloud, and watched her go, wondering how she could be so _in control_ about the whole thing. He felt sick—and that was just at the thought of _marriage_; remembering all their little disputes, how at the time he'd felt sure he never wanted to see her again—or she, him—afraid he was making the biggest mistake of his life by committing to a girl who'd hated him for longer than she'd even been _civil_ to him…and having a _child_ by her too? They were going to bring a child into the world in this climate of fear? It didn't seem right, or fair—but if Voldemort had the power to stop people from living a normal life…well, then he'd as good as won already, hadn't he?

But just the _thought_ of that prophecy was enough to make his stomach lurch—what if it _did_ apply to them? Somewhere inside he knew the insistence that it couldn't possibly be them was just fear and wishful thinking…there was no reason why it shouldn't—and every reason to fear it might be.

What was he _doing_? Dumbledore—the Order—they needed him. What was he doing getting Lily pregnant, and marrying her? The Order had to come first. How was he supposed to do his job properly if he was exhausted from lack of sleep, up half the night with a crying baby—the lives of his friends, the future of _everyone_, could be at risk. If Voldemort won because he'd been distracted by…by thoughts of baby formula and nappies…he'd never forgive himself—if he lived to—if his child lived to…

He scrubbed at his hair, feeling a hundred years old. What was he doing? What did he know about teething and colic—how did he ever get into this stupid mess in the first place?

The rain was finally beginning to slacken off when he headed back down stairs. It felt like the meeting had ended a month ago, but there were still people milling around. Sometimes he felt trapped in his own home by the Order, wishing they had somewhere else to make a focus for their activities when he just wanted to be alone.

"She left, you know…about half an hour ago," Sirius cut in on his thoughts. "What did you say to her?" And then other times, James thought miserably, he felt trapped by his _friends_—how did Sirius manage to hit so close to the mark every time? He seemed to read the look on James's face, waving him into the kitchen, forcing a bottle of butter beer into his hands and pushing the plans they'd been working on to one side. "Here—come and have a drink, mate…tell Uncle Sirius everything—" a sudden, worried, "you didn't break up, did you?"

"Worse," he sat heavily, staring at the opened bottle a long time before he took a swig. "We're getting married." Peter choked on his beer. James couldn't bear to look up, knowing what he'd see written all over Remus's face. Only Sirius found his voice.

"That's…a bit sudden, isn't it?"

"I…uh…may have…hurried things along…" he admitted, awkwardly.

"She's _pregnant_?" Sirius choked—a little too loudly, a "_Shh!_" from James—before a hushed continuation, imploring, "She's not." There was an almost admiring chuckle from Peter, "You _slept_ with her?"

"James, what were you _thinking_?"

"I _wasn't_ thinking, Remus! We were drunk—neither of us meant for this to happen—she wasn't even going to keep the baby…"

Lupin filled the silence that followed with a reproachful, "So you're getting married because she's afraid it could be the child in Trelawney's prophecy?"

Sirius cut in; "Hold on there, Remus—" but stopped short at the look on James's face. "You're not being serious? _Tell_ me you're not serious, James," he laughed, waiting for the denial, and when it didn't come all he could do was clout James around the head and grin, "You really are the biggest fool I ever met." _Don't I know it_, James thought miserably, staring into the bottom of his beer.

"Does Dumbledore know it might not be Alice Longbottom—in the prophecy?" Peter's eyes were wide.

James shook his head. "No one knows—_I_ didn't, even…until the other night."

"_That's_ why you've been avoiding her?" Sirius smirked, "Blimey, bet she didn't take _that_ too kindly—" silenced by a clout from Remus and the rebuke, "James—what are you going to _do_?"

"I don't _know_…" He could barely get his head round marriage and having a baby, You Know Who was too much; his voice was quiet when he found it. "I not sure which I'm more afraid of—getting married, or Voldemort going after Lily if he ever finds out…"

"He won't get near her," Sirius insisted.

"Do you really think we'd be in any situation to stop him if he chose to?"

"The Order, Remus…" but he trailed off—it hadn't saved the McKinnons. Silence filled the room, rain tapping gently on the window glass.

"What will you do?"

"I don't know—I don't _know_, Remus, okay? I—I mean, there are ways of being hidden—"

"You're going to hide away for the whole of this kid's _life_?" Sirius challenged, taken aback by the fear in James's face as he hissed across the table, "What else _can_ I do? This is _You Know Who_—what do you _want_ me to do? Your family are the dark wizards—you tell me what I should be doing to escape him." As soon as he said it, he regretted it, "I'm sorry—I didn't mean anything by that," pushing his chair back and leaving the table.

He leant on the sink, lost in the dark reflections in the window for a time, before frustration got the better of him and he yanked at the chord hanging beside the window frame, dropping the slatted blind with a clatter of wood on glass and taps. At least he couldn't _see_ the idiot that had caused all this trouble anymore… He could feel the eyes of his friends on him—but what could he say? What was there to say?

"We'll help you," Remus offered. "When the time comes—we'll be in the best place to hear about it, in the Order—one of us can be the Secret Keeper—a Fidelius Charm; even Voldemort couldn't break that if we did it right."

"I'll do it," Sirius insisted. "I'll be your Secret Keeper—I could stay hidden as Padfoot if I needed to, nobody'd know to look for a dog—you could fake my death or something and then they wouldn't even think to go looking for me—and the Order can protect Remus and Peter."

James wished it didn't all sound so pathetic in the face of what he'd seen the Death Eaters do.

"What about the Order?" he asked. "They'd need you—with me an Lily gone—"

"Forget the Order, James!" Sirius's voice dropped to a whisper when he remembered himself. "This is your _life_ we're talking about—yours and Lily's and your kid's. Voldemort's bound to try…to…"

"_Adava Kedavra_?" James said darkly, and Sirius shifted uncomfortably.

"It'll be okay, James—you'll see," Remus smiled, but it looked forced, and he seemed older than ever as he spoke.

Silence again—the sound of glass on wood as Sirius rolled an empty bottle absently across the uneven tabletop, until Remus snatched it up and set it on end—though Sirius didn't notice the irritation in his friend's expression.

"Shouldn't we be celebrating?" Peter put in, hesitantly, when he could take the silence no longer. "If—if you're getting married, I mean?" He looked half-afraid the suggestion would fall flat, but somehow it drew a smile.

"I guess all that asking finally paid off," Sirius punched James on the arm in half-hearted congratulations, giving Remus a gentle shove and a smile for the look on his face that said he still hadn't decided if he approved or not.

"You'll be my best man?" James asked, and Sirius grinned—as if it would have been any other way—a mischievous, "Only if Peter gets to be the bridesmaid."


End file.
